


Strongly hoisting a certain will, but still be gentle sometimes

by mugiji (shichan)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Healing, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, Promises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24605077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shichan/pseuds/mugiji
Summary: He’s not the most knowledgeable when it comes to feelings, but he supposes he could compare this to the same coziness one can feel under the blankets on a Sunday morning. Or something very similar— a cat snuggling against him, maybe.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 24





	Strongly hoisting a certain will, but still be gentle sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> First entry for the byhardt week! I wanted to mix the prompts "promise" and "scars" because I love the concept, so in the end this is very self-indulgent (like almost everything I write...). Teen-up rating just to be on the safe side in case you are not comfortable with mentions of scars / wounds / a bit of blood but the rest is very pure because I'm weak.  
> There might be mistakes since English is not my native language, but I hope you can still enjoy the reading!

The last battle has drained them of all their energies, not to mention the will to talk or do anything more than just breathe while staying still in their beds or sitting in the dining hall. Every single healer has been called to help and Byleth was summoned too at some point, so basically when he can finally sit on the bed in his room he feels all the fatigue on his shoulders. It’s as if he’s been on guard until now without realizing it.

Outside the sun is setting and Byleth knows he should probably go to the dining hall and show himself - “ _ it helps the morale a lot, apparently _ ” Seteth told him earlier - but now that he is on his bed he feels like there is no strength left in his legs. To think that a few months ago he was a mercenary and, above all, that he was  _ used _ to not rest for days… now a simple ( _ long and tiring and almost too dangerous for the bunch of kids his students still are _ ) battle exhausts him.

Maybe he should start training more— there’s a knock on the wooden door and Byleth can’t help but look at it. He never expects visitors and, strangely enough, students never come to ask him things. Father said they might not be used to him yet and that he should enjoy the freedom until it lasts. Byleth is not sure if being looked for that much would bother him or not; considering how many things the students want to talk about with him, though, he has to admit that he needs the silence, sometimes.

“Professor?” if he’s not wrong, the voice should belong to Linhardt. They have talked more often than not, to be honest. The boy is hard to get sometimes, but Byleth thinks he has listened to him enough to know he is quite brilliant and could do even better than he does, especially in magic. Both Reason and Faith, actually.

Byleth stands up, even if his whole body greatly disagree, and reaches the door to open it; as expected, Linhardt is in front of him, more exhausted than him— or, maybe, less used to hide the tiredness than Byleth. For several moments Linhardt doesn’t say anything, only looks at him as if expecting something Byleth doesn’t get. In the end he moves away from the door, enough for Linhardt to enter. Does he want to discuss something private and was waiting for Byleth to invite him inside? It could be, if not for the fact that once inside, the door closed behind them, Byleth is still being observed an nothing more.

Fortunately, whatever Linhardt was looking for seems to finally be there.

“Professor Manuela said that you were wounded but didn’t ask for a healer.” he says. Byleth is quite confused until he sees Linhardt pointing out at his thigh. When he lowers his gaze, Byleth notices a half-dried stain: blood. 

“Ah,” it’s more a sound than a reply “it didn’t hurt. It doesn’t. It’s okay.” because really, he has had worse wounds, there is no need to monopolize a healer for this. At least that’s what he thinks— clearly Linhardt (or Professor Manuela) has a different opinion. The boy gives him a very skeptical look before he gets closer to the bed and makes a gesture towards it, inviting Byleth to take a seat (like this is Linhardt’s room). Byleth is still uncertain but he moves and joins him, sits on his bed once again and… waits.

“You should take off your armor at least, Professor.”

Byleth is quite sure that it’s not needed - the stain of blood is not under some part of the armor, so it should be easy to heal the leg even like this - yet he does it in the end. It doesn’t take long for him to remove it, being used to it since years ago, and in the meantime he notices Linhardt’s eyes wandering around the room like a kid on an adventure in some exotic place. Once he’s ready Byleth is about to call him, but before he can actually do it Linhardt seems to wake up from his daydream and focuses on his leg instead. Byleth has a rudimental knowledge of Faith magic, which is the reason why he helped the other healers before, but he’s always been curious about observing others, especially those who seem very capable or very gifted, like Linhardt does in his eyes. Not a surprise since the boy told him he can’t stand the blood and the idea of taking people’s lives— now that he thinks about this, is Linhardt okay with the stain on Byleth’s clothes? Will it make him feel sick?

Linhardt stretches his arm, enough for his hand to be over Byleth’s leg, and before he knows it Byleth feels a familiar warmth where the stain is. It’s like something very familiar and somehow very intimate, like the affection of someone very close to you, something Byleth thinks could be considered caring since it should make someone feel safe and that’s, strangely, how he feels now. He’s not the most knowledgeable when it comes to feelings, but he supposes he could compare this to the same coziness one can feel under the blankets on a Sunday morning. Or something very similar— a cat snuggling against him, maybe.

There was no real pain to begin with, but Byleth admits that the tiredness seems to be slowly fading away.

“Are you okay?” Byleth asks because no matter how stupid it sounds when Linhardt just healed a lot of soldiers before him, he’s still not very good at reading the atmosphere, especially around the students he is supposed to lead. As expected, when Linhardt looks up at him he’s also frowning slightly “Funny thing to ask, Professor. You are the injured one, after all.” he replies while he goes back to the healing process. Byleth stays quiet until he finishes— part of him doesn’t want to distract him and the other part is not sure about what to say.

_ Apologize? _ , Sothis’ voice echoes in his head, clearly astonished at his being unable to say the right thing without her help  _ This is unbelievable! Aren’t you the one that should lead them? And now you are worrying one of your students, look! _ , and well, she is not entirely wrong but Byleth has some doubts about  _ what _ he should apologize for. It’s not like this wound was a big deal to begin with anyway. If not for the bloodstain, nobody would have ever noticed anything. 

“Yes,” he replies in the end “but you are not okay with the blood, right?”

Linhardt looks at him, surprise poorly hidden in his eyes, even if only for a brief moment before he probably realizes he showed too much and goes back to the unreadable expression Byleth is more accustomed to.

“I didn’t think you remembered.” “I do.” Byleth adds, almost too fast, and then silence fills the room. Byleth is used to silence, he’s a quiet one, never had the need to talk too much and Father is not really a chatterbox himself. On the battlefield you have to be like the air to survive, so Byleth has never thought about the lack of words as something that could make him feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t, in fact, but there is some sort of tension when there is one more person in the room and that person probably expects him to speak. 

The healing stops and all the sensations go away abruptly, giving Byleth a sense of loss he’s not familiar with. His eyes go from where only the stain is left to Linhardt’s face. 

“You really are a strange person, Professor.” Linhardt says in the end. It’s not the first time he tells Byleth his more than honest opinion on his character and it’s not like Byleth doesn’t get this a lot since his first day at Garreg Mach. Better said, he supposes other students think the same even if they don’t express it out loud. Or maybe they do, but in a more roundabout way. “Unfortunately,” Linhardt keeps speaking “it’s not something you can avoid while fighting.”

_ Have I ever tried to? _ , Byleth wonders, trying to recall something from his first battle. Maybe he’s just been used to it since the very beginning or perhaps it’s the same as Linhardt being talented at healing at such young age, to the point that he’s better than some adult healers. And what can Byleth do? He still has to get this whole professor thing. Both Manuela and Hanneman— no, even Rhea and Seteth told him several times to take care of his students, to lead them well and how this should be done, Byleth is not sure. Leading mercenaries? That’s easy: they know the job, know how to survive, they are not afraid of death or blood or murder. No feelings involved during battles. But students not that much older or younger than him, still inexperienced and often looking at him as if Byleth has all the answers… and he does, maybe, but to be able to explain everything is very different. And it’s hard, especially for him.

Byleth only knows how to fight, how to hold his sword, how to quickly analyze the situation on the battlefield. How to survive. Is there anything that can be useful with students?

“I can avoid it.” he says, suddenly aware of something. Linhardt doesn’t look convinced at all, with the small frown he shows him, but Byleth has few doubts in his life and none of these is about his fighting skills. “I can avoid getting hurt,” he nods as he keeps talking “so you won’t have to look at my blood, at least.”

“Others will get hurt.” Linhardt argues and he’s not wrong, because Byleth can’t just protect ten people in ten different places altogether, but… he just wishes he could. Physically. “Thank you anyway.” “I promise I… will make sure the wounds are not too deep. Yours too, I mean.”

Byleth doesn’t know why he told him such an obvious lie— well not a lie per se, it’s not like he doesn’t want to fulfill the promise, but if Father knew he would tell him how absurd it sounds for sure. How do you keep many students close and under control during something so unpredictable? The Goddess knows if that’s almost impossible, yet he didn’t know how to properly phrase it. He felt like Linhardt had already given up, and just wanted to give him some… reassurance? Looking at Linhardt’s expression, though - more skeptical than before - it wasn’t Byleth brightest idea.

There is a long pause, so long that Byleth is sure Linhardt will simply stand up and leave, even when he stays and speaks. “I don’t like promises, especially when they are obviously impossible to fulfill.” he blurts out and honestly, Byleth always thought that people like promises. He doesn’t remember making a lot of them with Father, but there are some unspoken ones like  _ don’t die before me, kid _ , or  _ we are going to stay together _ . 

“Professor?” Linhardt calls, probably because Byleth must have spaced out for a bit “Oh,” he replies, awkwardly late “people usually like them. They make them feel safe. So I thought…” it’s his explanation, even if it sounds more like an excuse. Linhardt doesn’t look angry, but something feels off even for Byleth. That boy is so complicated… sometimes Byleth appreciates Felix and how he talks to him mainly about fighting and weapons and sparring together. Felix speaks  _ mercenary _ , Linhardt is…  _ non-mercenary _ .

“Promises usually have that effect indeed. But aren’t they like scars?”

Byleth really doesn’t understand. He thought they were something good, not something that could remind people of old wounds. This is getting so complicated, what is he supposed to say at this point?

“Don’t make that face, Professor.” Linhardt’s voice sounds a bit more amused now, enough to make Byleth look at him straight in the eyes. There is a small smile on his lips, one Byleth can’t understand very well. It seems okay, though. “What face?” Byleth can’t help but ask, especially because people often tell him how expressionless he is so he’s not used to those sentences. Linhardt’s not confused by his question, apparently, but since he stands up Byleth does the same, by reflex. 

“Not really sure, you are still as much of an enigma as you were minutes ago.” Linhardt offers as an answer, not really satisfying but for now this will do “But don’t mind my words too much. If you really want to promise me something… well, that should wait. For now, asking for a healer when you are actually wounded would be great.” he adds and it’s a little bit funny because his voice is not filled with worry nor he’s scolding him— it sounds like he cares but doesn’t care at the same time. Probably it’s a healer thing? Byleth doesn’t know but nods anyway.

“Very good, then I will take my leave, Professor.” 

Byleth doesn’t have a reason to stops him, so he doesn’t; he looks at Linhardt reaching the door, opening it and leave just like that. Once the sound of footsteps can’t be heard anymore, Byleth takes the rest of his uniform off, since it will need some washing at least. His leg is perfectly healed, with no scar left.

A promise still lingers in the air, though.


End file.
